Remaining Autumn and Returning People

It was late autumn in the thirty-seventh year of the Republic of China. The wind beside Taihu Lake has become bitingly cold, blowing through the paddy fields of Wangting in the western suburbs of Suzhou. The rice crops have been harvested, and only short, yellow stubbles are left on the ridges of the fields, rustling and trembling in the wind, like people who have nowhere to stay in these troubled times. In 1948, the world in southern Jiangsu was no longer stable. The French currency in Shanghai is depreciating several times a day. The money that can buy half a load of rice in the morning cannot even be exchanged for a handful of grains in the evening. Prices skyrocketed, people were panicked, and rumors of artillery fire floated across the water of Taihu Lake. Scholars and respectable people in the city fled to the countryside to escape the disaster. Wangting is located near the water and is remote, and has become a temporary shelter for many people. Shen Zhiwei came here on such a rainy day. The bullock cart drove through the mud into the village. When the curtain of the cart was opened, she was wearing a plain Western-style gown. She had a slim figure but a straight back. Only his right leg was slightly suspended in the air, unable to fully land on the ground. A dark brown ebony crutch stabbed steadily into the soft soil, making a dull sound with every step he took. She is twenty-four years old. She grew up in Shanghai. When she was young, she went to England to study sociology. She saw the fog in London, the wind in the Thames, and the freedom and equality written in books. But an air raid shattered everything. While trying to protect a strange child, bomb fragments penetrated her right leg, leaving her permanently disabled. With her ideals shattered and her body disabled, she no longer wanted to stay in the prosperous but rotten Shanghai, so she went all the way south to find a quiet countryside where she could hide from people and herself. The villagers looked at the door quietly, leaning against the earthen wall. Some people whispered that the female gentleman from the city had read foreign books but was lame, and that she was a miserable person; others said that she was an unlucky person. Rumors are scattered in pieces, like late autumn rain, densely wrapped in the air. The village chief led her all the way to the most deserted house at the end of the village. The bamboo fence is crooked, the courtyard door is ajar, weeds are overgrown in the courtyard, and the smoke of fireworks is almost invisible. A woman sat on the threshold. Much later. "Mother, this is Mr. Shen from the city. The current situation is chaotic. He comes to the village to stay temporarily and rents your side house." The village chief's voice broke the silence. After a long time, Xu Wan slowly raised his eyes. Her eyes slowly swept over Shen Zhiwei's clean and decent clothes, her cold and distant brows, and finally landed on the crutch that supported her body. One has seen thousands of miles of mountains and rivers, but is trapped in a broken body; A person is trapped in a small country, but has lost all his thoughts. The autumn rain fell in thin layers, soaking the field ridges and the courtyard. In the troubled times, the autumn wind was bleak, two broken women suddenly met each other in the late autumn of 1948, separated by a shallow threshold. Shen Zhiwei, a female teacher who returned from studying abroad, x Xu Wan, a woman who lost her son in the countryside This is a story of mutual redemption between young and old New author! Please take care of me! Intention: Broken souls never consume each other. Only by seeing and accepting each other can we rebuild the warmth of the world in the remaining desolate life.